Are YOU the next tribute?
by addicted-roxe
Summary: 109th Hunger Games! I have the best arena in mind and different twists in store. A uniquely, captivating story awaits to be told and is starring YOU! Trainings are up! UPDATED DAILY! Readers are welcome!
1. Intro

Ok, so I know there are some people who are doing this and never continue, I'm not like that, our school has ended and I will update DAILY. Which means I can finish this.

I need 4 applications to make this Hunger Games possible. I have the best arena in mind and I need the best characters to make this good. I DO NOT WANT normal tributes, I want the best, I want with lots of personality, I want a descriptive personality. For the Careers who will be our antagonists, I want the strongest possible careers.

I want everything perfect.

Rules:

Cannot be related to a previous character in Catching Fire and Hunger Games.

Will not accept a background with less than 3 sentences.

Be very descriptive. VERY!

Name:

Gender:

District:

Age:

Appearance:

Hair:

Figure:

Background:

Personality:

Strengths:

Weakness:

Main Weapon to be used: (Daggers, axes, swords etc.)

Other:

Just so you know, this is the idea of the arena:

It is an island. The plants are flesh-eating carnivores, when you touch them, they are triggered to attack you. They have a sweet enticing aroma that tempt you to go to them. The waters are also poisonous, and the drinking water is stored in the mosses (which is all around the place) and the tributes will have to find it out. The cornucopia is also a one big animal, a stone fish, wherein the tributes doesn't know it is alive. Only if the fish will feel fire, that is the time it will move and forever be sunk in the huge poisonous lake.

I'm not yet done with the idea, it's prone to improvement. If you have suggestions, tell me.


	2. The list, Update 1

Hi! Thank you for all those who submitted reviews and applications, I am really grateful for sending me such beautifuly-crafted characters.

Anyway, as you have seen in the two previous books, their names are weird, different and extraordinary like Katniss, Peeta, Prim. Some people submitted me common names like Anna, Rebecka, Bella. I need extraordinary ones to make them special.

Please, submit male apps! And please exert effort in not making them too normal and boring.

Out of 13 apps, 10 made it. Plus 2 which I submitted.

District 1

Kroy Vohlaire

**Female spot open**

District 2

**Male spot open**

Parvati Dzerzhinsk

District 3

**Male spot open**

**Female spot open**

District 4

**Male spot open**

Aieen Spar

District 5

Zanna Hapfeild

Yousten Keere

District 6

**Male spot open**

**Female spot open**

District 7

**Male spot open**

Calypso Lee

District 8

**Male spot open**

Rebecka Alros

District 9

Carter Finkle

Andrea Dawn

District 10

**Male spot open**

Jessamine Aconite

District 11

**Male spot open**

Yarrow Naysmithe

District 12

Agava Freng

**Female spot open**

**Sorry if I changed your districts, I had to.**


	3. The list, Update 2

Another Update! 6 more apps. please!! we're almost there, just a few more apps to go. 2 more career spots!

Also, please donate male tributes. I understand most fans are females and want to submit female characters, please re-consider.

Also, I'm going to do 3 reapings per chappie. and in the 3rd POV.

District 1

Kroy Vohlaire

Mariette Jessemen

District 2

**Male spot open**

Parvati Dzerzhinsk

District 3

**Male spot open**

Beri Langsly

District 4

**Male spot open**

Aieen Spar

District 5

Zanna Hapfeild

Kaden Ceere

District 6

**Male spot open**

Hannah Vigoss

District 7

Redd Leerman**  
**

Calypso Lee

District 8

**Male spot open**

Rebecka Alros

District 9

Carter Finkle

Andrea Dawn

District 10

Knyne Frobik**  
**

Jessamine Aconite

District 11

Dor Manov**  
**

Yarrow Naysmithe

District 12

Agava Freng

**Female spot open**

**Sorry if I changed your districts, I had to.**


	4. Final LIST!

Another Update! YAY. thanks to my supporters and very impatient self, i managed to create the final list in 3 days! there are lots of in store for all of you!

District 1

Kroy Vohlaire

Mariette Jessemen

District 2

Jarryd Novosibirsk**  
**

Parvati Dzerzhinsk

District 3

Terk Russell**  
**

Beri Langsly

District 4

Fyre Salvador**  
**

Aieen Spar

District 5

Zanna Hapfeild

Kaden Ceere

District 6

Yahur Almora

Hannah Vigoss

District 7

Redd Leerman**  
**

Calypso Lee

District 8

Caine Rodriqez**  
**

Rebecka Alros

District 9

Carter Finkle

Andrea Dawn

District 10

Knyne Frobik**  
**

Jessamine Aconite

District 11

Dor Manov**  
**

Yarrow Naysmithe

District 12

Agava Freng

Damona Ravenswood

**Sorry if I changed your districts, I had to.**


	5. District 1 reaping

Disclaimer: I don't own Hunger Games, Susan Collin do.

Author's Note: I am going to do 3rd person omniscient point of view. Thank you for the supporters, hopefully, my first chapter will be successful.

* * *

District 1

"Arona Hepper!" the lady says, her bony fingers tightly gripped to the reaping ball, as if it was her life. She smiles as the little girl climbs the stage, the death sentence. But life in District 1, it will never be the child from the reaping ball.

"Pretty girl," she smirks, the crowd roars wilder. Several pushing away the barrier of kids for recognition of a volunteer, raising their hands desperately, the crowd goes mad. "Now, volunteers?"

The headlong stampede begins to stifle. Pushing away each other like mad men, of course that is what the Capitol wants to see. Several kids, fighting for the honor of suicide, they push, they cry until blinding screams had occupied the square. But Mariette Jessemen knew better. She crossed the protective line of the 16 year olds, squeezing herself to get out of the square and go around it, for hope to lead her at the back of the stage and finally to gain recognition as volunteering tribute.

She always hated the annual Hunger Games and how she was entitled to be a part of it by her loathed adoptive parents. You see, her adoptive father, an unrecognized merchant, he needed fame, power and money. He could never get that unless his child would win the Hunger Games and he knew he loved his sons too much for them to die at such barbarous show. But when he founded Mariette at a train of oysters, obviously, donned and forgotten by her parents, he took her in, by the hope that she would win him the fame he wanted.

"Stupid games." She sighs, her voice swallowed by the piercing havoc of the volunteers. She knew she had to volunteer. Her adoptive parents absurdly, abusingly trained her for 10 years. Maces, daggers, swords, bows, she was entitled to all of that. She knew she wasn't the strongest career, but she wanted to volunteer for her real father in district 4 to see her and what he had done to her.

When her mother gave birth to her, she was sent to the games, as a career from district 4, and she never returned, her father left her in that oyster train when she was six years old knowing he did not know how to keep her, she remembers how she almost died at the cold.

She goes up of the stage, furtively, like a lurking shadow. The escort sees her, jumped into surprise and Mariette knew it was her cue. 'I will volunteer as tribute."

The crowd goes silent once again, heavy sighs took place; they were outsmarted by a fairy-looking girl whose freckles go from head to nose. They creep angry unintelligent curses while a boy from the 17 section laughs at the dispute. He was a powerful boy, tall and strong, almost as if scary. He was the boy who conflicts fear from his townspeople, trained at the top of his class and the typical cold-hearted blood-thirsty boy who wanted to do nothing but win the games. He was Kroy Vohlaire.

"And your name is?" the woman asks the girl as she grins a wild wicked smile. "Mariette Jessemen." She told her, in a vehement voice. The mayor claps his hands, and the rest of the crowd does the same while the girl remains straight faced.

"Now, it is the boy's turn." She says, her hands already drowned from the thousands of pieces of paper. She withdraws her hand, holding a name from the district. "Kroy Vohlaire." She says, in a tone of excitement.

The boy climbs up, his powerful eyes, staring at the crowd and they grow silent. The escort smiles, but the rest of the crowd was still petrified. You see, Kroy was the strongest of them all, the scariest. He was trained by his father since he was seven. By that early age he acquired the skills none of them could do. He had friends but he was only interested in defeating them. The most little blood satisfies him.

His father was his only family and the reason for turning him into a cold monster. His father never loved him and he never loved his father back, their only connection was the Hunger Games, the blood and the fame. But this had resulted to complete isolation of feelings. He was taught not to love, to care, to feel nothing but the will to kill. And this was the reason for the fear of the whole District 1 to him.

He reaches the escort's side and she announces, "Any volunteers?" But the crowd was still silent; Kroy's deep eyes were locked to them as if cursing them not to volunteers, because if they did, his monstrous side would show up.

"Okay, none then." She says, then her arm lead towards the boy's shoulders. "Only the rarest times that District 1 has no volunteers."


	6. District 2 Reaping

**Thankyou guys for all the support. This is for all of you!**

The wind is stoic, as if the crowd was not breathing air. Silence, overwhelmed the crowd, they listened as the small lady, withdraw her hands from the glass. A name was caved on her palm and she turns to read it. "Fallon Archeik." Hes\r voice, despite the unpleasant aura is blazing, excitement in her eyes, again, she is the escort of the district whose blood shall prevail to the trophy, and fame will be once again in her hands.

The noise began to stifle; one by one the silent children push away the background of other kids and make their way to the stage even without the announcement of volunteers. They clutch to the desperation of honor in the games and maybe for some, honored death. The boy, his grin spread widely across his face begins to climb the rough steps of the stony stage. He sees the hand of the escort and began to take it. "I want no volunteers to take my place." He says in condescension.

Protests and unintelligent curses erupt, some only turn to sighs while others are making their way for a headlong stampede to try to swallow the boy with their anger. But then the mayor, Fallon's honored father, turns to the crowd and proclaims, "No volunteers!"

The crowd falls silent again, the desolation of failure lurking against the back of their skulls. But one boy stands up. "No! I will volunteer as tribute!" He says vehemently, walking charmingly to where a group of kids let him to. He was a muscular tall boy, whose gold fringes were known throughout of the district.

"Jarryd Novosibirsk?" Fallon, thrusts his head from his father's shoulders, his eyes widen and the rims of his eyes, twitching as if scared. A mishmash of voices begins to occupy the square. The boy whose ground he walks on, kissed by strangers, who even if is not that wealthy, treated like a god, like a prince, volunteering for a game that will cause his deathbed?

"Lovely boy," the escort spread a wild grin from her thin, papery lips, "Come here," He follows her demand; he remains in a straight face. He knows he will get picked if it was Fallon or him. His face will win him the victory and of course, the to-be-sponsors. When he reaches the stage, Fallon abruptly storms to him, "My father will not let you be tribute!"

A bony finger nudges him, "boy, I am the only one legally chosen to pick the volunteers, not the mayor." She winks at Jarryd, her wrinkled face in a wide smile. She pulls Jarryd and raises his hands to the air, "Jarryd Novosibirsk as male tribute!"

There he is, the boy who will win her the _fame_.

The audience claps, roaring Jarryd's name. Some wastes in sighs from their failure while some, a hard look on their eyes remain, staring blindly at the boy with the little victory dance on the stony stage. One of them is Parvati Dzerhinsk. Even if the female's turn isn't up yet, she stares coldly at him. She dislikes him in both reasons of envy and prejudice, but for the mere reason he is there at the honored stage and looks like as if he would win. And that's not something Parvati can handle without self-destructing.

But if she was in the same powerful position as him, she would defeat him, outsmart the idiot by her wits that are not present in the folds of his cerebrum, lure him to her like a little cat, and after he is under her spell, claw him to his death. She was such a strategic, divinely beautiful mare, and for all she knew, deserve to win the honor than him. And with a strategic little mare like her, is her weapon, an enticing seductive appeal.

"Now, the girl's turn!" the woman announces, clawing the pieces of paper from the translucent glass. She picks one up and gives it to Jarryd to read. "Ahalur Ramor."

A twelve year old gaunt looking girl walks forwardly to the stage that is twice her size. Frantically eyeing the audience for volunteers, she moves, her knees shaking as if it would not carry her weight. Her diminished figure slowly climbs up and the lady escort scowls from lack of interest. "Fine, volunteers anyone?"

Parvati sprint to the side of the stage, pushing the barrier of pathetic bodies around her. They make angry curses but she continues to ignore them. She raises her hands frantically, swallowed by the havoc of the crowd. Angry, she twists the elbow of a girl blocking her way and twists another girl from the side until the girls around her had lain sprawled to the floor, dissolving in piercing screams of stinging pain. Before she runs away, two peacemakers grab her by both side and the only words she could make out were, "I volunteer."

Surprised, the lady escort orders the peacemakers to let go, grinning wickedly from finding the right female counterpart. "Come here, girl, I'd like to choose you." She says in a heavy Capitol accent. Parvati climbs up with a triumphant look on her eyes. The excitement, blazing throughout her veins and the pumping blood runs faster within her.

Maybe she _will_ get him under her spell.

**I need as much support as I can get since I am very prone to writer's block. Here's the deal, the more you review on the story and maybe give me ideas on your character, the more the character will go farther in the games. **


	7. District 3 Reaping

**Thankyou again for your support! I honestly need a lot of reviews to support me. Anyway, i hope you enjoy the story!**

The escort slides across the stage, a fake grin plastered across his face. He clutches the reaping ball, sighing heavily while the rest of the crowd looks at him intensively. He was always the escort of the children whom annually, gives him the desolation of failure, never the honor. Always, the diminished looking children, hungry, terrified, and weak, the thought was depressing. His large, meaty hands take grasp of a small paper, shaking.

"Beri Langsly," his voice was unpleasant, almost like a scowl beneath his plastic grin. The rims of his eyes could almost break by the sight of the small girl. She climbs up the forlorn stairs of the stage, shaking frantically, looking down until a stream of tears cover her freckled face. She takes her fifth step and trips down to the edge of the redwood stairs. "Ahww." She chokes at a heavy District 3 accent as she falls back to the stony cement.

By the speed of a second, tiny whips of laughter begin to swallow her quiet sobs. Their voices grow louder, colder, until her whole face was red as a ruby that she needed to cave her face for protection for more humiliation. She gets up to her feet, ignoring the crowd in front. She knew she was weak but a death sentence, a trip to the games of suicide wasn't something that can change that. She was poor, shy and unintelligent. And most of all, she did not want to die in the television sets of Panem.

She looks for her family and finds them there, spread across the square, whimpering tiny sobs for loosing their dearest daughter. Then she turns to the stage again, trying to unleash little confidence that may at least help her. She takes the hand of the escort and he shoots her hands to the air in lack of interest. "Beri Langsly as female tribute!"

The crowd claps, in mixed emotions. Some, crossing their arms, in pity of the small girl, others, trying to hold their tiny laughs while others stare at her incredulously. But Terk Russell, stands there in the thought of his possible death crouching out the door by that reaping ball. His knees shakes but he tries to keep his head up for a façade of condescension and superiority. Someone nudges him, unwavering hatred beneath his dark eyes, "One day, you will be that one up in the stage and we all will be just waiting for you to die," he says in threat.

Did he know that boy? Then a flashback comes to him, he was the son whose father he ordered to kill a few years back. But he is the mayor's son and he was harassing him. He tries to act as if he did not hear anything and turn to the escort with his sad, owl eyes, "It's the boy's turn."

He looks at the ball at such intensity, praying he is not the boy whose name scribbled in the paper. The man on the stage withdraws his hands and slowly announces a name deeply familiar to him. "Terk Russell!" The audience stifles gasps and laughter, surely, no one is this happy in watching someone die but in the case of the arrogant, self-centered boy, everyone was happy. Except for him and the mayor.

"What?" The mayor chokes in disbelief; his excitement ebbing away and a disarray of thoughts occupy his head. He was a powerful man, but he could not stop his beloved son to enter from the deathly games. Terk slowly walks forward, he sees the boy who had talked to him a few minutes ago, grinning wide in satisfaction and so is the others around him. He climbs up the stage, holding back the tears that never in his life fall down. His polished face, now a mess, "Terk Russell as male tribute!"

He is scared, his patronizing disposition now left him and replaced by fear of a mouse. He feels exposed, his crown, now like broken glass. He was now the _prey_.

**What do you think of the characters?**


	8. District 4 Reaping

**Ok! THE LAST PART MAY LOOK RUSHED, but I still put effort into it. And for those who have characters and is not reviewing, it actually angers me and makes me want to put their characters into the bloodbath. But for those who keeps supporting, thankyou.**

The square was an island. The sparkling streams flowed constantly and vividly, as if they were diamonds. The escort climbs up the brick-caked stage, dripping wet, her eyes swollen red and her electric blue hair, like a huge eel, soaked in water. "What did I tell you?" her vulgar voice occupies the square as she erupts into brusque words. Certainly, falling to the translucent stream in a manner of that like a mammoth toad isn't quite a pleasant experience. If it wasn't for the warning of the mayor, the crowd would have stormed into unruly, crude laughter.

"Give me that!" The surly woman reaches to grip the translucent ball from the mayor's hand. Her hair, already wrapped to a thin, papery cloth, she places her hand gracefully inside, taking grasp of any paper she will encounter. She withdraws her hand and the whole square turns silent, enough to hear her breathing. She grins wickedly by the sight of the name, "Amora Granden."

A bony girl walks forwardly to the stage, walking limply from the greenery. She silently climbs up, her face showing neither fear nor distress. Her District was wealthy and people like her who wore rags and lived in screen covered houses did not have to worry for getting reaped. She did not bother to shake the hand of the lady at the stage instead she confidently faces the crowd, "Volunteers?"

The havoc begins to arise. Several shoot their hands to the air for recognition; some push away the existing kids around them. The escort stares at them in lack of interest. "It takes more to impress me," she scowl, prejudice creeping towards the very folds of her brain.

But a girl from the 18-year-old-section knew better than to take part of the ineffective havoc, she nudges the shoulders of a taller man, her servant, "You," her hands were drawn to her hips, "I want to volunteer." Her voice was obstinate but delicate like her form. She has the palest, delicate eyes, the palest skin and hair that almost turns white at stark sunlight, but she was as dangerous as a vixen, one of the many reasons she was feared.

In fear, he calls on other servant, "Lady wants to volunteer." His voice, shaky, and his lips were trembling. In synchronization they enclose her around a protective, claustrophobic circle and begin to walk with her. She was one of those who were feared in the District because her father was a powerful man, this is why she collects servants, let them bow to her, as if like her puppets.

"Lady wants to volunteer! Lady wants to volunteer!" their constant, monotonous voices fill the area. Slowly, the crowd moves away from her and the servants. "Lady wants to volunteer!" All eyes were on her, some in fear and some in envy. The escort stares at her incredulously, her lavish lips forming a wicked, satisfied smile.

"What is your name, girl?" the lady escort asks in her raspy voice . The girl exposes herself from the circle of her servants, "I am Aieen Spar," she climbs up the brick-caked stairway, her pale eyes in constant fire, blazing fire of triumph . She shakes the watery hands of the escort who still is dripping wet. "Aieen Spar as female tribute!"

The crowd watches her in the intensity of envy. Only some bother to clap, others just stare at her, in a mishmash of emotions of both failure and desperation. But Fyre Salvador is already pushing his way to the edge of his stage and fantasizing of killing the threatening girl shaking hands with the escort. Unlike her, he was all fire, red lips, deep fire hair, blood red bruises at his arms and neck and most off all, his disposition was always like burning embers.

A peacemaker tries to restrain him but he ignores him, planting vulgar curses behind his back. He _needs _to get picked; it was like his life now and getting reaped will be the beginning of that life. And considering that his own brother had stolen that life once, his brother that was chosen to volunteer a couple of years back and now gain the honor as a victor, it's not easy for him. For Fyre, he was the one who deserve it.

"Okay, now it's the boy's turn." The lady says in full enthusiasm, she beams at the glass ball and caves a name to her palms. "Anue Orthor."

Before the boy can climb up to the bricked stairway of the stage, Fyre storms to the escort, his face, powerful and vehement. The peacemaker restrains him again but he dodges them. At full force, he pushes them away and turns to the escort and Aieen. "_I_ will volunteer." The woman nods and he sighs in relief.

That _life_ begins now.

**What do you think? Please review! And submit ideas for your characters as the story goes on.**


	9. District 5 reaping

**Please, please review! I tell you, this is your character I am writing about, it seems unfair that you don't support me at all. **

The aura was frighteningly compulsive, almost repelling despite that thousands whom reside in the crowd plaster a deceiving smile. It was no question that the peacemakers forbid anyone in the district to complain or give any reaction besides happy. The people, one by one fill the area despite that the size was not enough to fit 10,000 people. It was a rounded area enclosed by big pillars and redwood covered in damp moss, the stage, was covered by grass itself.

When the mayor finishes reading the history of Panem and how Hunger Games came to be, a large man stands up, hugging the reaping ball, possessively. "And we will start with the boys," he says, his raspy voice covered in fake enthusiasm. His big meaty hands reach for pieces of paper with the scribbling of names by 1000 children, he finally decide on one and reads it aloud, "Kaden Ceerre!"

A boy from the 17-section walks forward, the crowd makes way for him but he just take little fairy steps beneath the feet of a broad, lean boy. By his muscles, one would think he was a career, if not, was a strong boy but he was never a contender of a deathly game. He couldn't' kill a soul; neither does he have the skills of survival. He can lift, he can fight but it was always up to that. By the size of his eyes which was nearly twitching in fear, he knew that too.

"Come here," the escort orders, beyond impatient. But Kaden, in a surprise shock, slows down more. But he finally gets the will to climb the grassy stairway to his death sentence and shakes the hand of the larger man in front of him. His eyes, like that of an owl, wide and incredulous. He only wanted to live the simplest life in his district, fall in love, spend his life peacefully with a wife and live his dreams of a writer. But that he will never again achieve, because even if he will win, he will look back to the nightmares of the children that he will kill. He will be like a monster.

"Kaden Ceerre as male tribute!" The escort shoots the hand of the boy, almost in pity from the eyes that looked like it will wield tears. But he goes on and so as the boy beside him.

From the audience, Zanna Hapfield looks intensely at him with tremendous empathy. He knew him; he was her neighbor and co-worker. She knew his drive as a writer and to live a life like everybody else, she knew those eyes that only speak great devastation to him. She knew she was lucky not to be at his position. Despite how she can be a deceitful liar, she was also an empathic and her friends mean a big deal to her.

"The lady's turn!" The escort now dissolves into frowning pity than fake enthusiasm. Soft papers at his fingertips that held the fate of a child, he knew he was pressured too. He inhale and exhale in a grotesque pattern while all the girls ball their fists, praying they are not the reaped one. And beyond these girls was Zanna's Uncle Quint, who is taking in a lot of breaths at the moment by the idea his beloved niece would be the one sent. "Aya Gobernaggouit!" the speaker announces while Uncle Quint finally sighs in relief but not everyone was happy.

The girl climbs up, her raven braids now a mess and involuntary tears welling from her irises. She wipes them constantly and continuously as a familiar voice appears on the crowd. "Aya! Aya!" Zanna pushes the kids in her front, tears, too, was streaming. Aya was her closest friend, her sister, her other identity and watching her die at live television will be unbearable for her. "Aya!" She repeats, her chest aching from the scene of her best friend onstage. Without thinking she shoots her hands to the air, "I will volunteer as tribute!"

Uncle Quint could almost choke from the words he heard from his niece. He always told her since she was twelve, never to volunteer, but she was too stubborn and willful. He sees her on the same stage as Aya was standing; embracing her friend possessively, like it was her last. Both of them were crying unstoppably, he could even see some turn teary eyed in the crowd, including the escort himself. "Zanna Hapfield as female tribute!"

Zanna smiles as if the event was a triumph while comforting her friend as she convinces Zanna from her mistake. But of course, loosing her was more painful than her grave.

Although she has one itsy-bitsy secret. Her uncle used to train her in case she was chosen and not everybody knew, with daggers, she was _deadly_.

**I almost cried when writing about Kaden and Zanna! What do you think? This is too sad of a chappie. I wish I love my best friend as much as Zanna does. **


	10. District 6 Reaping

I **enjoyed writing this chapter and this isn't a sad chappie unlike all my others. Somewhat…….peculiar. But I hope you all enjoy this! And don't forget to review! I update fast for all of you.  
**

The escort is sitting monstrously at a tiny metal chair as if it could not carry her weight, her scowling grin almost terrifying. It was no question that a District, that of this was not to her liking. The mosque-like building was covered in debris and festered mud. Moss and clambering vines had grown from its ancient age and the stage itself was made from rags and cloth, almost the same pattern of what the people was wearing. She stands up in a syncopated manner, tottering as if she could not carry her haunches.

"Let's start with the boys." She says, the reaping ball in her grasp. She takes a hand towards the glass, taking any scribbled piece of paper she felt from her fingertips. The crowd looks at her in unleashing intensity, each having a peculiar glance that only District 4 people naturally have. Her hand withdraws and a voice fills the area. "Yahur Almora!"

A small boy from the 14-section begins to take a step towards the tiny stage, his expression, almost in constant disarray, shaking terribly beneath a mammoth blissful-looking smile from his face. "Momma, look! I got reaped! I got reaped!" he shoots his hands towards the stoic air, waving tumultuously. His frayed clothes flares as he starts leaping and skipping almost like that of a penguin. But with his rounded body and large, rounded eyes and small figure, he is a _penguin_.

"Child, what are you doing?" the escort's arms crosses. But she did not know, unlike everybody else from the crowd, that the boy was mentally-deranged. A result of the District's experiment and a fruit from the harmful technology brought by the Capitol, the pitiful boy had just ended up with his mother, saving themselves from starvation. "I'm coming, Hunger Games!" Yahur sings, he climbs the small stairway, his eyes, unreadable and a slight grin from his freckled face.

He fleets from the crowd and to the monstrous lady, who had drawn her hands towards him for a shake. The boy accepts her hand and as soon as she starts facing the crowd, a certain dampness irritates her meaty skin. "What on earth?" The crowd starts to whip tiny laughs which now storms to unruly laughter as the escort jumps in surprise shock from the boy wrapped in her long rust-colored hair. And is apparently, _eating_ her hair.

The escort erupts into unintelligent curses, pulling her hair back from the slimy mouth of Yahur. "I'm hungry." He says, embracing her hair from his baring teeth as peacemakers try to restrain the deranged boy who in turn, is smiling for the umpteenth time. When they finally hampered the boy between him and the devastated lady, she announces, her voice decked in an unblissfully piercing tone, "Yahur Almora as male tribute!"

The crowd, still in an abyss of constant laughter, finally silence themselves. And look as the lady, with an annoyed scowl from her face, reaps into the ball, giving emphasis from her devastation. "The girl's turn."

Hannah Vigoss looks at the ball with unwavering concentration. She did not want to end up like her best friend who never returned from the games three years ago. Her best friend whom she watched from her television and did not know what to do to save her. She ached to see her crimson blood in the spear of a murderous, psychopathic career. This as one of the reasons she lived a life in three years as a recluse. Lonely and confined in her cold, stony room, she thought of herself as empty.

She glances at the man near to a bale of blocks, her father. Another reason for her confinement, he was abusing, molesting her as if she was not his child. But of course, this was better than to end up in a community home. She looks back to the stage as the woman reads the piece of paper. "Hannah Vigoss!"

She, in shock, stumbles to the hard cement, catching everyone's eyes to hers. She gets up, walking unsteadily as she tries to climb the raged steps of the stairway. Strangely, she did not feel distress but a flicker at her chest, flying like a phoenix, as if she was free. She feels fire, almost to her veins. She stares at the air, what is she feeling? Why was it so peculiar to her?

The escort takes her hand and she announces to the crowd, "Hannah Vigoss as female tribute." She glances to her father who is immediately scowling and it finally hits her. By the games she is free, by it she will be worthy of leaving her father, to take vengeance for her best friend. The air is unlikely warm as she inhales the scent.

Freedom is indeed _beautiful_.

**What do you think of the character? Will they make it far?**


	11. District 7 Reaping

**I like this chappie! And please, please review! I am updating fast for all of you guys!**

The high trees enclose the area, blocking direct sunlight from the pathless sky. It seems everything in District 7 is sheltered by myriads of trees as if the whole District was a forest. Evergreen trees and conifers resides near the wooden stage, giving life to the, otherwise, dreary setting. The pine woods were decked with dark moss and grasses stood beneath the feet of the crowd. As much as nature was given emphasis from the district, it was never captivating. It was just a district of trees and nothing else.

The bony woman, who is far much taller than the curtains of the stage, begins to stand up, her lanky feet getting tangled with the wires. "Let's start with the girls," she says with her polish voice in a sweet delicate tone despite of her lack of interest with the children. Her hands like a coverlet of silk, bury itself to a thousand pieces of paper. She grins, saluting the paper she had chosen and reads it as the crowd focuses at her. "Calypso Lee!"

Some exhale sighs of relief, others turn their heads around in curiosity of the girl and some, rejoicing that neither them nor their loved ones were picked. But shy and beautiful Calypso Lee stares to her feet, regaining herself from the shocking news, shaking herself to reality if it was just a delusion. But sadly, it was not. "It's okay, sweetheart," a boys voice fills her eardrums. She doesn't know him, perhaps a stranger to her but it did not look so since his arm was wrapped in her shoulders, caressing her delicate cheek.

She runs away from him and climbs the creaking stage, tears about to wield from her eyes. It was always like that, when boys flock her, she lets them so anything to her; she was too shy to fight for herself. But the 17 year old girl did not know that for a fact, she was strong and able to fight, especially to defend her parents from insulting fiends. She was trapped, confined in her little shell despite how she was such a divinely beautiful butterfly. She always thought she was an outcast and no matter how she may look on the outside, she always hated her beauty.

"Calypso Lee as female tribute!" the lady escort says, shaking the hand of a smaller girl. The crowd claps, mesmerized by her and her exorbitant beauty. Incredulous!

Redd Leerman scratches the back of his head from the coverlet of auburn hair. He stares at her with great pity, recognizing her plight from the enormous stage. Instead of infecting himself with her implicate infectious sadness, he heedlessly, bares his white teeth, grinning whimsically at anyone who faces him. Of course, that is Redd Leerman's job, to twist and turn a difficult plight to a moment of utter laughter. He was always known for his effective sayings, from 'Don't take life seriously. No one gets out alive anyway,' to 'Friendship is like peeing on yourself: everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings.'

"Now the boys' turn." The woman says, her delicate hands, once again, beneath the papers whose names are written for a death sentence. She decides on one and turns to the nervous crowd. She inhales deeply as she says the name whose fate will be doomed. "Redd Leerman!"

The crowd evaporates into gasps as they all turn to the boy whose freckles dominated his skin. He stares at the stage, waiting for a boy to climb up, turning his head curiously to see who it is. It was no question the boy has no clue. "I'm so sorry." Somebody pats his shoulders, looking down at his friend in cow-like eyes. Redd stares at him, confused at the moment. Then it hits him.

He was going to _die_ at the games.

He starts to panic, turning his head back and forth, and waiting for someone to take him away. But no one comes. He finally climbs up the stage, regaining his positivism and whimsicality. But where is it? It flies on the open air and no matter what he does, he can't catch it. The escort shakes his hand but tears start to stream continuously and he needs to stop it.

He regains his self, turning to the crowd who in turn, is crying for him. "It's okay everybody!" he flashes his teeth-baring smile, "At least even If I die, I'll be FAMOUS!"

**What do you think? I had so much fun writing Redd! He's so different! BTW, Disclaimer: the quotes are not mine.**


	12. District 8 Reaping

The sun rises like a glistening gem beneath the rusty, forlorn buildings of District 8. The escort, his eyes locked on the monstrous ball, sits down in a cordial, patronizing manner, as if he shows the celebrating crowd his superiority. The square is decked in decorative streamers and lights under the intense aura of the crowd, who is presently glaring at the escort as if they were about to shoot daggers upon the small man. Of course, that is what they want to do but the only thing that matters is if they would do it. And presently, it is a _no_.

Despite that the district represents weaving and cloth, the residents wear rags, filthy, frayed coverlets decked upon their bodies. Since the peacemakers forbid anyone by law to use their work for personal gain but instead for the Capitol's gain, a District 8 resident is lucky enough to wear appalling bed sheets.

The escort walks backward to the lush, floral curtains and gracefully walks like a swan, but with his long, lanky legs, looks more like a flamingo, he throws his arms to the air, letting the people applaud him. But since the crowd remains silent from his bravura, he rams his fingers through the reaping ball and in annoyance, reads the scribbling. His abundant lips open and give off a frightening sound that echoes throughout the area, "Caine Rodriqez."

Several turn their heads around for the curiosity of what the next victim would look like. To their surprise it isn't another diminished, weak-looking child but a big muscular-looking boy whose eyes are primarily focusing on the escort. His stare is so unworldly, unearthly and inhumane that the crowd already shivers from their hair, standing up. Caine Rodriqez was never like this, what people knew about him is that he was this friendly, cheery tailor but his hot-temper overcame him at the point he was in a state of unleashing _monster_.

He always hated the Capitol since he came out from his mother's womb, a reason that he was stomping his feet quite tumultuously in the ragged stairway of the forsaken stage. They angered him, almost as if he would kill the president with his fingernails just to see the crimson flow continuously and slowly fester to a corpse. But where was the cheery, happy-go-lucky Caine?

When he reaches the stage, he rushes to the small escort and rams his hands, caving the man's neck, suffocating him. The escort struggles for his life, to breathe his breaths but the other boy was slowly and painfully crushing his windpipe so he couldn't do so. The crowd turns into gasps as the peacemakers runs toward the crude boy who is presently pulverizing the man's neck like a toothpick. They restrain him, pulling his hips and the other, releasing the boy's grip from the man. As they successfully pull him to the cold cemented floor of the stage, the escort coughs into life while several medics try to recuperate him.

After a half an hour of the recuperating of the escort and the consulting of several Capitol representatives that if the boy would be disqualified and sent to death, they finally have made their decision. They would keep Caine and let him be sent to the games, but it was no question that they would be trying to kill him off in the arena, maybe dehydrating him or let him disappear in the sand. In the end, the escort climbs up the stage again, "Caine Rodriqez as male tribute!"

Scowling, he reaches for another piece of paper from the glass ball. He reads the paper softly as if his voice is damaged from the previous incident, together with the sting from his neck. "Sisu Alros!"

Sisu walks, tottering, unsteadily limping from the paralyzing realization. Her tears, already streaming constantly from her bony face, she keeps her head down to her way on the stony stage. Why her? that was the only question lurking, somersaulting against her skull. All her life, her experiences were always traumatizing. As the illegitimate daughter of the mayor, his mistress, her mother, died when she was born by the order of murder from the mayor himself. She was living, alone, maybe at the orphanage but always alone. And this death sentence, she will desolate alone.

The escort shakes her hand and he finally asks her softly how she feels. But the poor girl does not know how to respond. She is limited to only speaking with her hands, she is mute. A fruit from the ignorance of a peacemaker who hit her head, another devastating experience. The escort asks her repeatedly and she just cries, shaking her head and letting him get the message. "Sisu Alros as female tribute!"

As silent as she is, the watchful girl looks down. She closes her eyes and welcomes the darkness around her. But little does she know that even if she has no ability to vocalize and her skeletal figure brings her down, by her painful events she witnessed, it molded her and she became _strong_.

Yes, it is _beauty_ from pain.

**I enjoyed writing both characters. Do you think they will make it far? Review!**


	13. District 9 Reaping

**So, my huge thanks to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread for her Beta-ing. The good grammar wasn't mine, I still suck at it. Hehe. She was my very first friend to actually PM in Hunger Games fics. So do visit her story, "The Truth", which I am particularly fond of and think of her as a writing genius. **

**And please review! I am actually lucky to have the will to write despite of my almost-writer's block. I couldn't resist Confessions of a Shopoholic book set my aunt gave me but on with the story!**

**Let's celebrate that I actually understand now the difference between 'in' and 'on'! I feel so triumphant. **

Beneath the wrinkled feet of the District 9 residents, wires dominate over the cold cement, contrasting to the redwood and conifers surrounding the area. The aura is implicitly peculiar as if the crowd is being watched by several watchdogs with deathly spears at their grasp. You could even hear the trembling lips of fifty children and fifty mothers who are at the moment; chanting silent prayers that would hopefully help their children reduce their chance of getting reaped.

An enthusiastic man bounces to the stage, almost leaping in the typical blaze of excitement that the Capitol seems to have when it comes to the annual Hunger Games. "Let's start with the boys, shall we?" His voice was tremendously raging despite the disheveled crowd. No one was as happy as him towards this moment, reaping the names whose fate shall be entitled to the Capitol's entertainment by the games. He almost lusts for blood for the children he will escort to the deathly games, maybe even like a cannibal.

"Carter Finkle!" He says the name almost in utter laughter as a tall boy who must be six foot eight in outrageous height walks limply. He was another one of _those_ tributes of District 9. He is diminished, gaunt and a face who almost looked as if a protruding skull, almost frightening that a little girl shrieks in fear. "Monster!" she says, her voice, piercing that everyone starts looking at the frightening boy in displeasure of his face.

Even if he was always the benevolent boy who walks in the streets looking for hungry little children and gives them berries he had illegally gathered, some people always strives to avoid him. They couldn't look past what they saw physically since only one word spreads throughout their brain whenever he appears before them. _Ugly_. _Ugly_. _Ugly_.

But he never wanted that, he never wished for his face to be almost distorted. He always wanted only one thing from them and that is acceptance. He was the generous boy who took care of his family single-handedly. Dealing several losses from his life, the abandonment of his father to him and his siblings, the death of two of his closest brothers from starvation and the secret murder of his little sister from a drunken peacemaker, he all experienced these. But by these, he did not become strong, he became weaker, tinier and he looked upon himself as a monster. An ugly, skeletal, distorted monster.

He shakes the hand of the escort whose mouth is gaped widely from surprise; he could almost cover his eyes from going blind from seeing this boy. "Carter Finkle as male tribute!" he says, not bothering to shoot the arms of the boy to the air. He just steps aside as if the boy was some kind of psychopath. But the boy helplessly looks down to his trembling knees, welcoming the salty tears.

But Andri Dawn did more than shriek at the frightening face of the boy; she just stares at him with bizarre pity. She always thought it was ridiculous how he repels the people even if he was such a kind, generous boy. Her amber eyes follow the tears of the boy who is streaming from face to floor. But her concentration changes after the announcement of the girl's turn. The small man's hands slightly claw a piece of paper who, by the odds, may contain her name. She continuously chants words that give her confidence. _It will not be me. It will not be me. It will not be me_.

"Andri Dawn!" the tiny voice echoes throughout her, her eardrums, her veins, and finally, her heart which seems to be slowing down and stops for a second. "hhhhhummph," she chokes, inhaling as much air with her best ability. The people around her don't know that for a fact, Andri has heart problems. Nothing severe but by the worry that her death may crouch to her at any given time at the arena may, of course, change that, together with the traumatizing nightmares.

She climbs to the cold, deathly stage, trying to control her heart beats. Despite her ailment, she is an extraordinary girl, having a wide IQ range and impeccable photographic memory. She is, without question, implicitly intelligent and witty, owning several inventions and unlikely snares she uses for her hunting.

_Hunting, _her passion.

The escort shakes her hand, grinning wide towards her. "Andri Dawn as female tribute!"

And there she is, waiting for her death, leaving the district she loves most and being watched by thousands of viewers from their homes, thinking if she will make it far. But there she is, listening to her little heartbeats which are currently being swallowed by the crowd.

The blood flows freely from her ventricles. _Beat_……._beat_…….._beat._

To Dan D. Lion –catie, the contributor of Andri, the heart ailment wasn't on our agreement, but it is something that spices her up.

**What do you think about the grammar? I tried my best not using a BETA for this chappie as an experiment if I did better at my grammar now that I had written more assiduously. Did I miss some mistakes?**


	14. District 10 Reaping

**I feel so nervous! What will a 13 year old, such as I, will do in a (sewing) class and students around me are practically in college, employees and adults? Plus the fact I am new to the (summer) school! HELP!**

**But the story must go on!**

_Moo._

A grimy, festered smell skims under the noses of the District 10 residents. The outrageous whimpers of the cows erupt and the filthy smell of decomposing from the same forsaken black-dotted animals occupies the area. The crowd stays stoic under the dreary afternoon with the cry of the cows. No complains. But someone finally steps forward with a hard look in her eyes. Her gaze in a mishmash of disgust and condescension, she shrieks in curses brusquely that the audience jumps in shock.

"Those stupid cows!" she says, stomping her feet to the tiny stage, "stupid, stupid cows!" She falls down from the stage into a pit of cow feces, her little body slithering across the damp, muddy waste. The crowd dawns to be a boisterous hubbub as every single body shakes in unruly laughter as the escort bobs her head in great distress. A piercing scream somersaults throughout the area and the stormy crowd cover their poor ears. "This is not supposed to happen!"

A few peacemakers head for the lady and pull her up to her feet, draping a cloth against her bony body. The woman looks as if she will turn to a boiling cauldron or a chainsaw, about to cause an onslaught or possibly, massacre everybody else. But then she ignores the crowd and reaps a paper from the translucent glass, her dignity almost in ruins. "Kyne Frobik!" she reads aloud in annoyance as the audience finally wakes up from their trance of laughter.

A boy from the center of the crowd walks forward, pushing those around him and letting them stumble to the cold, muddy floor. There he is, the tall, muscled, idiotic thug, the boy whose life only meant a set of bottled wine and cigarettes. He takes a swig of wine before he climbs up the stony stage, half unconscious. What is this? Are they going to ask me to sing? Will the tall flamingo lady sing with me? His thoughts linger like he had an amnesia but that is not the case of the 6 foot drunken boy, swinging his arms like that of a sparrow.

He shakes the wrinkled hands of the lady, letting his thoughts skim into different scenes from his life, home, bulls, intimidation and school. School? What did he know about school? In rare occasions is when he enters the battered old school doors. He knew he was a failure and so he confines himself into a shadow of self-loathe.

"Kyne Frobik as male tribute!" the escort says in rage and utter annoyance. She withdraws her hand from his grasp and steps aside from the taller boy. The crowd at his front, though, seems to be wasting from relief sighs and taking no pity at all at the boy. Instead, they glance at him like nothing had happened and he is not the boy who will be sent to the games of death.

But while several self-destructs in nervousness, chants prayers desperately as if the earth will shatter at any moment, Jessamine Aconite from the 15-section sits down in the muddy field and sings to herself, her eyes closes calmly and fills her head with song.

"Chirrup, the birds chirrup,

Perched on a tree,

Sing with me.

The wind flares to my feet,

To my trembling knee,

Sing with me."

Jessamine, a nightingale, she is, always is the light of the crowd. Always sings gleefully in a gloomy plight, open and friendly. She is never strong, never intelligent and never beautiful; in fact, she is just a normal little girl who picks up rotten fruits at the streets for her family. But the crowd is always attracted to her and her voice.

The lady escort reaps a name from the reaping ball and suddenly, the aura turns serious again. Several are trembling in fear that they could almost faint. "Jessamine Aconite!"

The whole audience gasps as the girl lying down the mud stands up and collapsing again to the mud in heavy tears. A few strangers help her to her feet but she refuses, instead she sits down to her knees, her muddy palms drawing to cover her face. "Stop it!" she tells herself, almost quite loudly that a few, stares at her in great pity. But then she grips herself to her feet and climbs the lonely stairway, trying to get a hold of her tears.

She shakes the hand of the escort, who despite her disposition, is grinning wide in satisfaction of another's suffering. Jessamine turns to look at the crowd who is presently, drawing 3 fingers across their lips, a farewell to a loved one. And today, she is the _loved_ one. She is glancing at them, person by person, meeting the eye of the ones who she touched by her voice.

And finally, she figures how to tell them her _farewell_.

She sings, loud enough for the whole district to get an earful.

"My dear, my sweet, my darling,

Watch me, I will soar,

My sweet, you are who I fight for.

My dear, my sweet, my darling,

I know, by death we will part,

Let my voice stay in your heart.

I will take fire if you give me your flicker,

Now, my sweet, remember,

When I shan't return all along,

Fill your head with song……."

**Random song, random words, this is not my usual poem. I feel like I made this like a fairy tale, you know, Snow White singing and all. Okay, I didn't BETA again. I didn't post for one whole day and I couldn't post tomorrow.**

**To JLW: you didn't mention any singing, I know, but I think the singing gives her more personality.**


	15. District 11 Reaping

**I am really sorry I did not post yesterday, I was super busy. Anyway, my life feel like it's going on overdrive. I don't know why, maybe it's because I am beginning to actually go for my dream (international fashion designing) and I just did well in sewing class. Well I did become friends with people who are 22 years older than me! **

**And more importantly, I just finished reading Shopoholic (book two) and I cannot believe she left London, leaving Suze, mum and dad and Tarkie. Bad story ending! **

**The story shall go on!**

Crops slither like snakes upon the damp soil as if like a labyrinth. Stacks of wheat clashes with the forlorn skyscrapers of the district whose fences, like monstrous walls, are dominated by myriads of electric wires. Impoverished men and women had already postponed from their labor and came to celebrate the forced event. But what are they to do? Death by peacemakers does weigh more than a couple plastic grinning faces. And life here in District 11, it is always a barter trade, sustained life for forced labor.

A couple of sighs can already trigger _danger_.

The escort takes a long breath from the dreary air. His hand is already buried by a large number of scribbled papers but a lout, he is, let it stay there while his eyelids are half-closing. The audience does not protest for they knew it meant danger but between their eyes is annoyance from the man standing at the middle of the stage, almost sleeping. Finally, he takes a piece of paper and reads it in a soft voice that the people need to cup their ears to hear him. "Yarrow Naysmithe!"

A girl from the 14-section steps lightly to the mammoth stage. It looks as if it was big enough to swallow her; she was just too small for her age. Her eyes, almost like a yarrow flower itself, in deep magenta behind her irises, almost magical! The crowd stares at her in amazement. Her for all people? The girl whom all in their districts treated as a little mother, the girl who, despite her age, is very maternal to the men and women older than her, the girl who runs an apothecary and always gives them free herbs.

She climbs the stairway with little tears sliding across her pulpy cheeks, almost as if whip-like structures from her porcelain skin. She stares into the crowd. The people who she cared for like a family being taken away because of such stupid games, preposterous! If only she was strong and big, she could win, but that is already out of the ordinary.

She takes the silky hands of the man at her front, trembling. How can she have an escort who she is scared of? She looks down at her little feet and turns to the audience. With tears, she plants a teeth baring smile as she looks around her tree-filled environment. As long as a tree is present, she will always feel like home. "Yarrow Naysmithe as female tribute!"

A few people heave tiny whimpers and sob for the petite girl standing at the stage and is crying, herself. But a boy from the crowd, Dor Manov, with his permanent scowl, focuses at an unleashing concentration from his decision. _Will he volunteer or not_? His recent experience from his drunken father earlier caused him reckless thinking. Telling himself that he will show him that he is not weak, he will volunteer. But a brawl of thoughts still occupies his head until a picture of a girl, hanging from a tree near the stage develops into his eyes.

He jumps in shock. Frightening images would not leave him alone. The girl's pale face is outlined in crimson stitches; blood is oozing out of her eyelids and she calls out to him, "_Dor, Dor, Dor_," almost monotonously. He covers his ears but the screeching voice is still there, "_Dor_," And the worst part is, he is the only one who can hear them. She smiles at him, almost like a lifeless doll, bearing her blood-stained teeth. "_Dor._"

He has this tiny, little secret, he was so close to dying, after his father put quite a number of drugs at his milk when he was drunk, when the medics brought him back to life, he carried a gift. An ability to see ghosts.

"Oranuer Gauder!" he hears the man at the front, his dragging voice almost disappearing from the dreary air. A diminished boy catches his gaze and he can see that he was trembling. Before he can climb his way to the stage, Dor shoots his hands on the air, his dignity high as he turn glances to his father, trying to get his attention. "I, Dor Manov, volunteer as tribute!"

A few shoot pitied glances at him, several tires to convince him with his mistakes. But he pushes them awkwardly, his temper raging. When the escort finally nods in his way, he climbs swiftly to the stage. That will show he is not weak. He catches a few looks from the surprised crowd, including his father. But instead of seeing him at an incredulous mask at his face, he watches as a smirk begin to grow from his wrinkled, tattered face. And it finally hits him. Volunteering is a _huge_ mistake.

When the escort shakes his hands, he catches a glimpse of the girl again. She is hiding beneath her curtain of dark hair, sitting in between branches of a tree. She waves her battered hands and tries to peel off her pale, ragged skin as her fingernails begins to chuck out of her skin and leaving her crimson blood pooling against her flesh. She is trying to scare him.

But he is _not_ frightened.

**I had troubles with this. Sorry for the late posting!**

**So let me explain why Dor has this unnatural thing. I wanted him to be able to see the ghosts of the past tributes in the arena and the tributes (which you submitted), if ever I kill him/ her. They'll still be in the story since, y'know, Dor would see them.**

**To Tboz01- the seeing ghosts isn't n our agreement either. But this will be the last! No more changing tributes so much.**

**If you don't like the Dor thing or you like it, we'll have a vote. Type Yes if you want the whole horror thing, Type No if you say the suspense of killing each other is enough and it sounds so unrealistic so you want me to cut the ghosts off and just say that he had an hallucination at the reaping.**

**Last reaping would be tomorrow! **


	16. District 12 Reaping

**I know it has been like 5 days and I haven't updated. My brother destroyed my computer and I wasn't able to turn it on. Please don't hate me!**

**Anyway, I am back updating daily and I will not repeat this situation again. I am so so so so sorry!**

Lanterns cascades throughout the area as people gather. Dressed for the occasion that holds the death of two children, they roam around the stony square. But beneath their plastered smiles, is the niggling fear of death. "Happy Hunger Games!" they greet, almost sincerely, under the blinding lights of the stage. The escort walks forward, his hands on the air and the crowd roars for his recognition, applauding him. He reads his speech; a smirk of arrogance crosses his wrinkled face.

"Let's start with the boys!" he says, his voice, almost as if, patronizing the crowd. District 12 was known as the weakest, smallest, poorest, it was no question every escort that would step in would not show any spark of interest. And the people knew that. They embraced the fact of death in the bloodbath, since no one from their area would go as far as that.

The humongous hands of the escort reach down to be buried to pieces of paper. He withdraws it and skims his eyes unto the scribble. "Agava Freng!" he grins by the sight of a gaunt, diminished-looking boy from a vast crowd of 13 year olds. His knees tremble as he climbs to his death but the escort would take no pity. Instead, annoyance flashes in between his eyes.

Agava, with his glossy tears starts to breakdown from the realization. The realization that he was next to being killed taunts him. Especially that he learned the bitter taste of the outside world by the death of his sister in the games who did not last 2 seconds from the arena. His dispute of the capitol rages stronger, almost about to erupt but he stays silent, almost mute. A flash of memory occurs to him.

"_Agava," the bony fingers of his mother wraps around his frayed body. She is weak, pale and dying with silent tears thrusting from her irises. "Agava, promise me," her hand reaches for his as their eyes locks into each other, both with a barrier of tears._

"_Anything, mother," his hands tremble. He can't loose anyone again. He lost his sister, his brother, his father and now his mother. But there she is, lying under a coverlet of sheets, their hard bed beneath her dying body. They are in his room, the room made out from plastic bottles and aluminum cans. The home where all his dying family was sheltered once, he's here with someone dying again._

"_Promise me that if ever you enter the games like your sister," she takes a big intake of air, as if she could not breathe. "You will not be killed by anyone but yourself."_

"_You want me to kill myself?" He jumps by surprise; he had thought she would say to let him try his best to win or make it or at least far from the games but she said neither. "I want you to run away from the bloodbath! And when you are alone, thrust yourself with a knife; make sure that blood flows confidently! I don't want you to be a part of the filthy games of the capitol."_

The memory was so clear, like a picture. Her voice plays throughout his mind. Will he really kill himself? He wasn't sure. He walks to the stage and shakes the hand of the cold-hearted escort. "Agava Freng as male tribute!"

He could not believe his ears. He? Male tribute? He pictures himself to the arena, killed by a monstrous a career, lunging to his cold dead body as the capitol audience; they shake with laughter by the entertainment of his death. Then a picture of his mother is there again.

He knows what to do. He will _die_ as his own.

The crowd tears in great pity. Another 13 year old boy is sent to the games by the barbarous capitol. A few exhales deeply in relief that death was not planted at their early age. But Damona Ravenswood sits down to the cement, her back hunched into a fetal position, talking to herself, almost quite loudly. "Damona, Damona, you will not be picked. It's so silly you think of it. Yes very silly," she tries to humor herself but ends up humoring other people. Several giggle by the sight of her, some shakes their head in pity, thinking she was slightly deranged.

"Now, the ladies' turn!" the escort reaches into the glass, curiosity flickering throughout him. He reaches into a paper and reads it aloud that the crowd jumps in surprise of his frightening voice. "Damona Ravenswood!"

The eyes of the crowd turns to the girl who still is lying down, unaware of the situation. "Damona, you are just hearing things. The fat man did not call you. The fat man is just joking and he will call another name. See, girl, you are so silly." She trembles, denying what she just heard. She covers her ears and returns in comforting herself when a few from the crowd lifts her up. Instead of talking to herself again, she breaks down in tears, finally embracing her fate, her death.

She climbs up. She knows she will never return. She can fight with an arrow, she can climb and she can run. But her phobia will never get her anywhere. Pathetically, despite her athletic built, she can never make it far by her fear of blood. The fear of deep crimson slithering around skin, it almost makes her shriek.

She shakes the hand of the escort who is eyeing her as she twitches and trembles. "Damona Ravenswood as tribute!"

"You are so silly," she whispers to herself, almost soothingly, "you will not _die_."

**I'm so sorry again!**


	17. READ THIS!

**So read this first!**

So if you want my update rate to be constant, I need your help too. So i haven't made a storyline yet. Fill in some things that will contribute to the storyline.

Before they go to the arena (optional)

Friends:

Stations to visit (knot tying station, bow and arrow station etc.)

Will hide some skills (yes or no): (if so, what skills):

Do you want to be in a love triangle?

Do you want to have an enemy/ rival?

.What you want your character to do:

Other:

* * *

**READ THIS:**

I also have an idea in mind. Since the prep team is there, why not have a makeover chapter. In that chapters, they will makeover them, (wax, change hair, take out fats etc.) like what they did to Katniss. But the surprise is, there is going to be where they take pictures of them after the makeover and we will provide the pictures. We are going to search for a celebrity/model/dancer etc. pictures that will best fit our characters.

Rules:

1. they cannot be very famous like Vanessa Hudgens or Kate Hudson. They should be a little unpopular. Like Heather Kuzmich or Emily Browning. I will judge if the representative is good or not.

**Read this:**

Send me the name of the celebrity/model/dancer, I will be the one to search pics.

remember, this is only before the arena. Late submissions are accepted as long as you submit. I have 2 love couples already and i need one more love triangle.


	18. Read this author's note!

So screw the whole model/ celebrity picture representation things and let's just stick to our imagination! I just can't search for celebrities, it's pretty difficult.

Sorry, i can only update tomorrow. I am going to take the time off and build the story line. I just finished grouping the tributes in friends so it will be easier to story tell. This will be the layout of the proceeding stories.

1. Chariots

2. Training, feelings of tributes etc. and training scores.

3. Interviews

If you want to contribute the outfit of chariots and interviews, you may do so.

Also, a note: The bloodbath will only kill a few tributes, this way, no need for worries.


	19. How to Remember All Characters chart

So, I care about my readers and I don't want that every other second you read my story you will be like 'who was this again?'

So I made a chart to make it easier for you. I suggest you write this on a pad of paper and stick it to your screen so whenever you read my story you won't be like, 'what?" but 'aahh'.

these are only sterotypes

Mariette: Career, Not that keen in killing people, wallflower (if you don't know what it means ask me on review), volunteered so her father can see she isn't worthless.

Kroy: Scary, bloodthirsty, only cares of winning, Cato-like but worse

Parvati: sexy and seducing, always envious, charming, bubbly

Jarryd: Finnick-like but is self-centered, head over heels for Parvati, very good-looking that girls crave for him

Terk: Mayor's son, always patronizing even if he is quite weak, arrogant

Beri: Stuttering, poor girl, not a contender of the games

Aieen: Incredibly rich that she collects slaves, quiet, doesn't care of people, delicately beautiful

Fyre: scary, hunger games is his life, driven

Kaden: strong guy who has a pure heart, cannot kill even if he is skilled and strong, wants to be a writer

Zanna: Driven to win, trained for hunger games, deceitful liar

Yahur: mentally-deranged guy

Hannah: girl who like going in the games to escape her father, caring, somewhat show-offish

Calypso: divinely beautiful, shy girl

Redd: funny, known for his funny quotes, likes to annoy people to death

Sisu: Mute, illegitimate daughter of mayor, silent

Caine: suffocated escort in reaping, intensely hates capitol, attitude somewhat Johanna-like, strong, scary also

Andri: very intelligent, has heart ailment

Carter: sad, ugly, skeletal-looking

Jessamine: sings always, hardworking

Kyne: Haymitch-like, always drunk

Yarrow: Rue-like, small, maternal, caring

Dor: Can see ghosts, volunteered because of drunk father, scowls a lot, doesn't like to be pitied

Damona: feisty, talks to herself a lot, scared of blood

Agava: 13, vowed not to be killed but to kill himself in arena, hates feelings, hates positive people, hates a lot

is this helpful?


	20. Chariot Rides

**Ahhhhh! Thankyou so much .com for telling me to 'jiggle' my monitor cable so the stupid yellow tinge in my screen or the 'yellow screen of death' will be gone! Thankyou!**

**Sorry I did not update yesterday. I kinda went all over the place figuring out my sewing machine (which I now am able to use). 4 hours of figuring it all out.**

**And the writing style would be like Heroes (the tv series). Which means in some chapters (in training and arena), some characters will not show to avoid confusions. They will show up the nest chap.**

**Sorry to NiceCareer, I could not write about the outfits you suggested.**

The lights flickers on and off around the stadium where the president is standing. He slides smoothly down to the stairway, grinning wide to the crowd just before him. The people are roaring in excitement, the corresponding designers and prep teams sit in separated chairs and are swallowed by the audience. It is a wonderful event for the capitol itself but not all is happy.

The area is separated into two parts, where the audience is and the other, where the chariots will parade down to, beside it is the president and Cassius Garnet, the substitute host for the ninety year old Caesar Flickerman in the grave. Cassius with the fire red hair and artificial cheekbones outlined in electric blue bobbing eyes stands before the stage, his hands shot in the air, more phenomenal than the capitol-beloved Caesar. And President Velutus, his ashy dark hair and wrinkled forehead, bowing for recognition, a playful smirk around his lips.

The torch lights and several screens turn on as the music cranks in a victory tune. The crowd gasps and the tributes appears from a crimson curtain.

District 1 appears first. The concept was human jewels. Both Marriette and Kroy are waving high to the audience with their skin glistening in translucent corners of what it looks like a gem. Their skin flickered like lightning in the bare lights of the torches. Marriette's bronze skin now is transformed in a deep color of ruby and Kroy, to a sapphire. Their faces are like glittering diamonds and their hair tied like ropes. It was simply immaculate. Like you would want to hang them into a pendant, you would not tear your eyes from it. The crowd applauds in absolute, incredulous amazement.

District 2 is next. Parvati and Jarryd appear before the crowd, their costumes in no relevance of the theme. Parvati is wearing a slimming gold bodice and a small translucent body suit that terminates 5 inches higher up in her thighs and shows more of her skin than it does to cover it. It seems the main highlight of her whole costumes was focused on her cleavage and how the audience would be drooling at any given moment. Jarryd however is wearing his own suit that doesn't seem to cover a lot from his body either. Their skin is dyed bronze and their face, outlined in metallic makeup.

Whoever designed their costumes must have known, the more the audience sees, the better.

District 3 appears. Since their industries consist of electronics, both Terk and Beri appears with wires wrapped around their bodies like mummies. From head to toe, wires dominate their skin, except for a part in their eyes. It almost look like the poor tributes are trapped in chains but they are trapped in humiliation. The audience is in the verge of laughing crudely, but most of them try not to. Instead they applaud weakly as both of the tributes waves to them, their faces blushing.

District 4 comes in. The crowd gasps, with their mouths gaped open as the tributes appear before them. Both Aieen and Fyre look like they are made out of water. Water projections appears in their skin, waves of water and ripples rain drops. Both of their alabaster skin are no longer chalky but are like glistening liquid. The only articles of clothing they are wearing are tendrils of reptile-patterned cloth wrapped around in some spots and both are wearing grotesque 12 inch platforms. Their cheekbones, highlighted in watery makeup, even if it may look delicate and pure, they too, looks deadly. And the capitol loves it.

District 5 is next. Like district 2, Zanna and Kaden both did not follow the theme. Zanna debated 5 long hours to the designer in following her idea and not following the theme at all, and in the end, she won. Both of them are in nude-colored suits that go down from their necks to their feet. The suit is composed of black moving tattoo tendrils forming vines, suns and spirals. It is matched by their sharp, frightening makeup, that Zanna chose and their hair, teased like they are tattoos themselves. It is frighteningly bizarre but is a sure-fire to win sponsors. Of course, like a career, the district 5 girl wants to win and she will do anything to go back home.

District 6 appears. Unlike one, four and five, their costumes isn't anything compared to any of them. As their industries are composed of scientific research, Yahur and Hannah comes in with short body suits that flashes different neon colors every second with matching gloves that, too, transforms in color. Their faces are dyed in patches of different colors and are outlined by silver makeup. The poor tributes looks more like a high tech clown than children participation in a life and death game. The audience keeps staring in amusement, as if they could not believe their eyes. Even the president is niggling in silent laughter.

District 7 comes next. The crowd sighs and ignores the tributes since they have seen the get up since the 60th Hunger Games. Every year, like Johanna Mason once said, they always will be a tree. And this year, Calypso and Redd _are_ a tree. They both are scowling in annoyance of their costume as not one in the crowd applauds or notice them. Their bodies as trunks, their arms and feet are roots and their poor heads are the leaves with a few flowers tainted in their faces in makeup.

District 8 arrives. Sisu and Caine appear with their bodies draped around in layers of cloth from neck down. Like District 3, they are more of mummies than tributes. Some fabrics are draped loosely as if it would fall any second. Their makeup, almost chalky, is outlined in ash-black lining and their hair is teased into a bun. Without the consideration of their industries, they look like tributes from a district that produces graves than cloth. It is a mad joke and the audience knows it as they already have erupted into stormy laughter as both of the tributes pass through.

District 9 follows. As they are known for their hunting, Andri and Carter arrives as goats and deer with spears thrusting in their bodies and tombstones glued on top of their heads. The designer once told, she got the inspiration from Carter and said he looked like a goat. And now they parade down with baggy animal skin with bulging stomachs and spears thrusting with artificial blood. Despite their costumes, they did not have to wear animal masks, instead, their faces were dyed and Carter was given big goat teeth and Andri, deer horns.

District 10 is next. With the consideration of their industries, livestock, Kyne and Jessamine appears, too, as animals, except they are rather cows. Both tributes have cow skin around their bodies with crowns on top of their heads. The concept is, king and queen cows. The designer told them they have to make cows look noble and magnificent, but that somehow turned into the opposite. They both are wearing animal masks and the cow skin is tightly worn. It almost looks as if they are diminished, gaunt cows that only feed in thistles.

District 11 appears. Both Yarrow and Dor come in, soil and vines dominates like body paint. Their bodies splattered in dried leaves and soil to cover their sensitive parts and their hair, dyed and warped as flowers. They are everything nature and not an article of clothing is found. Almost like Adam and Eve. The tendrils of the vines covers their skin like snakes and their faces as dark as mud. This as the representation of agriculture, the crowd claps instead of niggling in silent laughter from the previous chariot rides.

And at last, District 12 finally arrives. Both Damona and Agava are in black body suits with yellow helmets that puffs smoke out. They look rather more like trains as the chariot slowly makes it way to the path. Their makeup is ashy and dark, almost like they spent their whole lives mining coals. They wave their hands. It seems even their gloves are puffing smoke. They make their way to the stage and to the president with all the others.

Cassius Garnet finally closes the show and the big screen behind him recaps the past chariots. The crowd applauds him.

The tributes will be _interesting_ this year.

**This is dedicated to my idol designer, Alexander Mcqueen. I wanted to meet you when I will be a designer myself but you hung yourself last February and I cannot meet you since you are in the afterlife and I don't think I want to die yet. Maybe I'll visit your grave someday. It was my dream to meet you……….**

**Yes, I just saw your latest collection and it was immaculate…….**

…**..**

**Whoops! I am talking to a guy in heaven. Hehe. Moving on, tell me which get up was your fave. My fav was D.4 and D.9.**


	21. Training part 1

**Sorry for the many misspellings at the last chapter, I was really rushing it since I haven't got much time.**

**Also, some characters will not show up this chapter and will show up in the next. And anyway, I have 3 romantic attached couples, and you will have to figure that out…….**

**Characters with parts in this chapter:**

**Andri**

**Carter**

**Yahur**

**Hannah**

**Parvati**

**Jarryd**

**Sisu**

**Agava**

**Jessamine**

**Calypso**

**Redd**

**Kroy**

**Aieen**

**Oh, and bring out your HRC (How to Remember Characters) cheat sheet! **

The tributes gather around the training room where stations and deadly weapons are at display. The blinding ceiling lights flickers open and several men enter the room. "We are your training teachers." A man in uniformed black says with a voice quite raspy and serious despite the warm smiles of the men beside him. "We will guide you in the stations you choose. You are free to use any weapon if it is not used for an intention of bodily harm," he says straightly.

The teachers move away from the tributes and to their corresponding stations as the tributes scatter around the area, some pondering which would they first learn and others, already following their strategy plan. But everyone is not yet complete as District 9 is still nowhere to be found in the area.

Finally, the metal doors of the elevator opens to reveal the District 9 competitors, Andri and Carter moves out of the automatic doors and steps into the cold cemented floors of the training room. Everybody looks up as both of them totters out of the elevator and they gasp in shock. They grasp the sight of the insightful Carter as him and his partner pass through them. Some careers giggle with brusque words escaping from their lips, some in pitied glances, and others burst out in frivolous, cold laughter.

"Disgusting," Terk spits out, his eyes in condescension. Carter looks down to his feet as Andri pats his back to comfort him. But a fellow tribute approaches them and stares at him with a smile across his lavish lips. "Look Hannah! We have a skeleton friend! oooh, Skeleton friend?" Yahur says in unreasonable excitement, jumping up and down like a little child, looking at the diminished, skeletal form of the boy.

"No, Yahur, that's enough." Hannah grabs the arm of the boy and nods to Carter, "sorry." Then they disappear to a station quite far away and leaving the other tributes in wild laughter.

"Don't mind them, they are all barbarous juveniles," Andri says which she follows with unintelligent curses. "We'll see who will be laughing once they're bodies will fester in their own blood in the arena." She spits out as they try to move to a far away station, ignoring the crude crowd.

……….

"That was quite rude of you." Hannah's hands draws to her hips as she scold the 14 year old, mentally-deranged boy. He sits on his knees as he eats random berries from the basket. "Wait, you're not listening! Why are you------wait, those are poisonous!" She shoves the berries off his slimy mouth and grabs the basket off his hands. "Spit it out! Spit! Spit!"

"Don't worry, those aren't poisonous," the teacher says, slightly giggling by the scene. "Smart girl, that boy won't last in the games if he keeps eating random poisonous berries."

Hannah sighs. Perhaps she can't really abandon him, now that he isn't in his right mind. It would be inhumane just to leave him, so she became all decisive lately, asking herself if she will take care of the boy in the mean time until someone else slits his throat in the games. "Well……This burden is my responsibility now," she says to him in a heavy sigh.

"I want blue berries now," the boy beside her says.

…………

"Awww…." Parvati clasps her hands together and tilt her head sideways, "that poor boy, aww…... isn't in his right mind. Pitiful, really." She turns to the boy before her who is staring, almost confusingly. "You pity a boy who you are going to have to stab at the back anyways?" Jarryd throws a spear to a tattered dummy and lands on its head. He smiles playfully.

"Whatever you say," Parvati sighs and throws another spear, swiftly. She stops and stares at Jarryd who is concentrating at his target quite intensely. She'll have him under her spell quite easily in no time, by then he would do anything to protect her and when it comes to the final four, she would just slit his throat while he is in deep slumber. "Ouch, cramps! Jarryd, be a sweet and carry me to the table?"

He nods and walks forward to her. Parvati skims her hand to his shoulder as he carries her up to his arms. She pretends to fall down again and once he catches her, both of their faces are inches apart. She giggles as she sticks her tongue out to his lips and withdraws it to a seductive smile. In shock, he blushes as he turns away and lifts her to the table. "Sorry to make you fall," he breathes heavily as he grins to her.

"Hmmm…..charming," she ignores him as he sits up beside her. He turns to the station, "that Mariette and Kroy stole our places in the station. I am going to have to claim it back." His voice, almost raging by the two tributes throwing spears simultaneously starts to rise.

"You do that."

…………….

At the knot-tying station, the silent, mute Sisu focuses intensely by a stack of ropes, letting her hands, swiftly knot them together in a matter of seconds. She grins with her success and lifts the net over her, in triumph. "I give up! I give up!" the teacher says, collapsing into the cement in the niggling feeling of failure. Sisu bares her flashy, white teeth to the man and shows him her implicitly, hand executed net she finished over by a minute.

"You think you're better than me!" He points to her, his anger raging by his veins. "Girl! Why don't you talk? You think talking to me is a waste of time?" He raises his voices as Sisu shakes her head. She doesn't understand why the teacher misunderstood her. She simply cannot talk! Why could he not understand?

Sisu ignores him and draws her hands to an armful of vines, knotting them to each other repetitively. "You want another contest, huh?" He sits down to the cement and grabs the same armful of vines as her and begins to tie them together. After a minute passes, Sisu stands up and lifts a snare to the air as the man beside her is still struggling in making it. She giggles playfully as the jealous man stands up to her. His eyes are twitching in rage.

"You know what? If you're so good, then get out of _my_ station!" He pushes her away, forcibly. "I am kicking you out, yes. Haha. I am kicking you filthy girl out."

The girl moves away. A grin still spread across her thin lips.

…………

"Oooh…so small," Jessamine whispers to herself softly while curiously following a District 12 boy, Agava around the room in boredom. Agava launches an arrow to the dummy's head and misses. Jessamine giggles in return and the boy erupts in rage. "Please, go away," he says straightly with a permanent scowl from his face.

"Okay," Jessamine flashes a smile and he ignores her. He moves away from the bow and arrow station and to the knot-tying station. "So grumpy," she says to herself and skips to the path where Agava just passed through. In boredom, she follows him again and picks up an armful of knots and sits beside him. He looks at her, scowling, his eyebrows arching downwards in anger. "You seem to be following me?" He clutches a pack of knots in annoyance.

"Yes! Is that okay?" she tries to tie a few vines but seem to be doing badly. "No! Go away," he stands up and moves away from the confused girl who is sitting on her knees and finding a way through a stack of vines.

"That is an absolute grumpy fellow that does not need a friend." Redd Leerman says, his hand out to reach for her. She smiles as he reveals a divinely beautiful girl at his back with long flowing raven hair, "What is the use of friends if this is Hunger Games? They might as well stab you at the back," Calypso says, smiling to both of them.

"Aye, a true friend does not stab you at the back." He ponders for a while then turns to both girls. "They stab you at the front." Both Calypso and Jessamine giggle, it is a fact that Redd Leerman can make anyone laugh. He shakes the hand of Jessamine, "I am Redd and she is Calypso."

She shakes back, "well, it's nice to have a friend."

……….

Kroy moves away from the spear station from the annoyance of Jarryd, driving them away. He settles with a bow and arrow as a dummy appears a few yards away for him to shoot. He grins wickedly and shoots the arrow that land on its head. He shoots another one, in the same place as where his first arrow landed. The teacher shoots a few artificial birds up in the air and Kroy works to shoot each one, almost like lightning. "Is that all?"

The tributes start to stop what they are doing and stare as he shoots a couple more arrows to the air. They all turn petrified, even a few careers feels a tinge of fear and to some, envy. They watch incredulously as the boy intimidates them with his skill, all of them frozen. "Do me a favor and give me something that isn't quite easy," he says, patronizing the watchful crowd.

"There isn't anything easy anymore. You destroyed all my dummies!" the teacher complains, his voice high by the arrogant boy. Kroy walks away from the station, glaring at the crowd and finally laughing to himself, "You pathetic tributes will be easy to kill."

Finally, a girl steps in and blocks his way, her arms crossed and her eyebrows arched. "Intimidation is a worthless strategy. You'd never know if one of us pathetic tributes would have the advantage in shoving bamboo sticks to your throat. We'd feast over your pathetic blood." Aieen walks away, not bothering to look back at the raging boy.

"Oh, I'm not worried. We'll see who will shove bamboo sticks first."

……….

**Ok so the training may last 2 or 3 chapters long, so no need to worry about never going to finish. I will finish.**

**So some of you (not all!) may be wondering on what Redd said, "True friends does not stab at the back, they stab at the front." If you don't get it, It somehow is related to backstabbing. Like I wouldn't backstab a real friend, I'd tell her what's wrong with her at her face. no matter how rude and hurtful it is. But on what Redd said, he meant violence and really stabbing.**

**P.S. the Redd quote isn't mine, I saw it in the internet.**

**Which part do you like? I like the Parvati and Jarryd part and the Kroy part.**


End file.
